The Imperial Scepter of Glory

Chapter 15 Magic (Part 1)

"You…" The necromancer uttered his final words in this world, his voice hoarse and guttural, accompanied by the sickening wheeze of air escaping from his punctured lungs. His face twisted in disbelief—how could Lintan, having exhausted all his combat energy, still manage to spring from the ground and strike him down in an instant?

"Sorry..." Lintan, his face smeared with blood, let out a victorious smile as he wrenched his longsword free. He watched as the necromancer’s body slowly collapsed to the ground.

With the death of the necromancer, the magical energy that had been sustaining the zombies dissipated. Within moments, every undead creature toppled over, reverting to nothing more than lifeless corpses.

Lintan slumped onto the ground, gasping for breath, his mind replaying the battle. That had been far too close.

At the final moment, he had reached the very limits of his endurance—his strength was nearly depleted, his body barely able to continue. Taking a desperate gamble, he had feigned weakness, withdrawing his combat energy and allowing a zombie’s attack to land on him. Using the momentum, he rolled across the ground, inching toward the necromancer. Seeing that his opponent remained stationary, absorbed in casting his spells, Lintan seized his last ounce of strength and launched a sudden, fatal strike.

Both battles had been swift. Even including the time spent traveling between engagements, less than two hours had passed. Yet, within those mere two hours, the Frlegg Mercenary Group had lost five or six men—nearly one-sixth of their entire force. The weight of those losses pressed heavily on Lintan, his face pale not just from exhaustion and injury but from the bitter realization of the price they had paid.

As the battle came to an end, the mercenaries found clean patches of ground to sit and tend to their wounds. Those who were relatively unscathed took on the grim task of clearing the battlefield. They carefully gathered the bodies of their fallen comrades, placing them to the side, and then, under Lintan’s leadership, held a solemn moment of silence. Lintan sprinkled holy water over the bodies before committing them to the flames. Each warrior’s ashes would be taken back, delivered to their families by whatever means necessary.

The bodies of the zombies and deceased villagers, however, were treated with far less reverence. They were piled together and set ablaze, ensuring that any lingering negative energy would not accumulate and spawn new undead. A hundred vengeful souls, if left unchecked, could give rise to a high-level undead abomination—far worse than a mere horde of controlled zombies.

During the battlefield cleanup, the mercenaries discovered several valuable spoils from the necromancer Lintan had slain. Among them were three magical gemstones, two enchanted scrolls, and a spellbook.

Lintan, ever the pragmatic leader, announced generously, "The three magical gemstones will be sold when we reach the next town, and the profits distributed among everyone as a bonus!" The compensation for the fallen, however, would come from his own pocket—twenty gold coins per warrior. For an ordinary family, that sum could sustain them comfortably for two or three years, or with frugality, perhaps even five. In this world, everything came at a steep cost—except for human life, which remained tragically cheap.

A spellbook was an essential tool for every mage, recording the spells they had mastered. Becoming a mage was no easy feat, no simpler than the path of a knight awakening their combat energy. A mage’s most crucial attribute was intelligence.

Casting a spell was far more complex than merely reciting an incantation. A true mage needed to deeply understand the fundamental principles behind spellcasting—a process that required extensive study and research.

Even comprehension alone wasn’t enough. Mastery required relentless practice, refining spellcasting techniques to achieve the desired results. While many aspects of magic were standardized, every mage had their own unique approach to channeling and casting. The study of magic symbols and runes was an arduous, time-consuming process, and the accumulation of magical energy necessitated long hours of meditation.

For a mage, time was everything. Even those with exceptional talent needed years of disciplined effort to hone their abilities. Without dedication, even the greatest potential would go to waste. That was why mages were often envisioned as wise elders—white-haired, bearded, their eyes deep and aglow with intellect.

A mentor could shorten the learning curve, but no teacher could replace the necessity of personal diligence and innate talent.

The underlying principles of magic were incredibly intricate. A single advanced spell could require over a dozen pages to document fully. Magic symbols conveyed vast and nuanced meanings—sometimes, a single rune required pages of explanation in common language. Even the most gifted mage could not possibly commit every spell to memory, which was why spellbooks existed. When a mage forgot a particular spell’s intricacies, they could refer to their tome, refreshing their knowledge.

Of course, this method was impractical in combat. Battles were chaotic, allowing no time to flip through a book for forgotten incantations—just as a surgeon couldn’t afford to consult a medical manual mid-operation.

To be battle-ready, mages memorized a select number of spells in advance, preparing for various situations. This significantly improved their casting speed. Still, even with preparation, spellcasting took precious seconds, and any disruption could cause a spell to fail. These limitations kept mages from being overwhelmingly dominant in warfare. After all, if magic could be unleashed instantly and endlessly, what need would there be for knights?

Nevertheless, this system allowed magic to be wielded effectively in combat rather than remaining confined to scholarly study and laboratory experimentation.

The value of a mage’s spellbook depended entirely on the level of the mage who owned it. A high-ranking mage’s tome could contain hundreds or even thousands of spells, while a destitute, struggling spellcaster might possess an entire book filled with only a handful of rudimentary spells.

The spellbook they had seized was surprisingly well-stocked. Judging by its contents, the slain necromancer had not been a novice—his skills were at least those of a third-tier spellcaster. In an ordinary town, such a mage would have been treated with great respect. His spellbook was certainly no crude collection of notes.

Within its pages were over twenty spells, though most were of lower tiers. Half of them were necromantic in nature. If sold, the tome might fetch a hundred gold coins or more.

However, the next event changed Lintan’s mind about selling the book altogether.

A system notification appeared before his eyes:

“Detected spells available for recording. Would you like to integrate them now?”

Lintan froze in shock before excitement surged through him. “Wait… does this mean I can use magic too?”

The system remained indifferent to his amazement, merely repeating:

“Detected spells available for recording. Would you like to integrate them now?”

Without hesitation, Lintan selected “Yes”—and in the depths of his soul, a new interface appeared within his system.

A Magic tab had been unlocked.